When that time had expired, and the city was forced to surrender, the
Cid did not carry out his threat, but mercifully granted the inhabitants
their lives, and permitted them to take their wives and children and go
where they would. But some who presumed on his generosity to send all
their wealth out of the city, against the Cid's express command, the
conqueror sold into slavery.
This conquest of Murviedro was the last great exploit of the Champion.
For the day was approaching when the conqueror must yield himself to the
conqueror of all. The Cid fell ill, and while in this state, heard that
Bucar was again coming with a great force against Valencia. One night
soon after, so runs the old legend, there swept through the palace of
the dying Champion a great wave of light and a marvelous sweet perfume.
And there appeared to the Cid a tall and stately old man, with long
snowy hair, holding keys in his hand; and thus he spoke,--
"Sleepest thou, Rodrigo?"
"What man art thou?" the Cid asked his strange visitor boldly.
"I am Saint Peter, prince of the apostles," he said; "and I am come to
tell thee that when thirty days be past, thou must quit this world and
go to the life that hath no end. But God will so favor thee that after
thy death thou shalt conquer and rout King Bucar. This does Christ grant
thee for love of me and for the honor thou didst ever pay me in my
church at Cardenas." And after he had spoken, Saint Peter straightway
departed. Then the Cid rejoiced greatly, and the next day he called his
chief men, and said to them,--
"My friends and kinsmen, be sure that I am now come upon the end of my
life, and thirty days hence shall see my end. I have seen visions of my
father and son, and each time they say: 'Long hast thou tarried here;
let us begone to the eternal life.'
"And last night Saint Peter came to me and told me that in thirty days I
shall pass away; but before I leave you, I will show you how you shall
conquer King Bucar, as Saint Peter did promise me."
Then the Cid betook himself to the church of Saint Peter. There all the
people assembled, and he bade them farewell, weeping sore. After
confessing his sins and receiving absolution, he went back to the
Alcazar and cast himself upon the bed, and never again did he rise up.
Seven days before the end of the thirty he bade them bring him a gold
cup, and in it he mixed with rose-water a little balsam and myrrh, sent
him by the Sultan of Persia, and drank the mixture.
This he did each day, as was the custom of Moorish princes; and so his
body and face became fresh and healthy-looking, though he grew weaker
every hour. At last he called his wife, Ximena, Bishop Hieronymo, and
his three most trusty friends, and said,--
"As soon as I be dead, ye shall wash my body many times with rose-water
and balsam. And thou, Ximena, take heed that thou and the women cry not
aloud nor wail for me so that the Moors get knowledge of my death. And
when Bucar is come, bid all the folk of Valencia go forth on the wall
and sound trumpets, and show great glee. Also bid the people get
together their goods in secret, that the Moors know it not, for ye may
not tarry here after my death, but must needs go back to Castile. Thou,
Gil Diaz, deck my body with care, and saddle Babieca, and bind me on him
so that I fall not, and place in my hand my sword, Tizona; and thou, Don
Hieronymo, shalt ride by my side; and thou, Bermudez, bear my banner as
thou wast wont to do; and thou, Don Fanez, shalt draw up the host as
thou hast ever done. Then go ye forth and battle with Bucar, for be
assured and doubt not that ye shall win the battle."
Having said these words, the dying hero received the sacrament, and then
prayed, weeping:
"Lord Jesus Christ, I pray Thee of thy grace that Thou wilt pardon my
sins, and that my soul be placed in the light that hath no end."
And so saying, "the Cid gave to God his soul."
Then the faithful friends and loving wife did even as he had commanded
them. The body had been embalmed by the myrrh and balsam, and thus
remained fresh-looking as in life. So they clothed the dead warrior in
all his armor of war, with coat of arms and shield, and placed in his
hand the precious sword, Tizona. His arms were raised aloft, and tied up
so cunningly that he held the sword straight and even. When bound
strongly upon his good horse, Babieca, any man not knowing the truth
would have sworn the knight to be alive.
At last all things were in readiness. And at midnight a strange
procession rode through the silent, deserted streets of the city. First
went forth Pero Bermudez, bearing aloft the great green banner of the
Champion, that had never yet failed to strike terror into the hearts of
his foes. Then all silently, in battle-array, the warriors of the Cid
passed through the gates of Valencia; and with them, as of old, rode
their dead leader, Ruy Diaz de Bivar. A hundred chosen knights pressed
close about the Champion; and before him, with breaking heart, but
tearless and quiet as her lord had commanded, rode the high-hearted
Ximena. So went forth to his last conflict the ever-victorious Cid, the
great conqueror of banners.
At daylight the little army fell upon the sleeping camp of King Bucar,
and slew many Moors before they could mount or arm. And it seemed to
King Bucar and the other kings that there joined the host of the
Christians full seventy thousand knights, all white as snow. Ahead of
all rode a tall knight on a white horse. In his left hand he held a
white banner, and in his right a sword of fire; and he slew many Moors
as they fled. So terrified were King Bucar and his men that they drew
not rein until they reached the sea; and more than twenty thousand were
drowned. Bucar and those who escaped to the ships hoisted sails and sped
away, nor did they dare look back.
Then the Christians rode back in triumph to the presence of the dead
Champion, and laden with the treasure of the Moorish camp, marched in
peace to Castile.
All along the way the people came forth in multitudes to see the great
Champion on his last journey; and much they marveled at his lifelike
appearance, and greatly they mourned for him. But the Cid's own men, as
he had bidden them, made no open show of grief. And so, with banners
flying, with gleam of spear and sound of trumpet, the strange funeral
train passed through the land, until it came at last to the church of
San Pedro de Cardenas. There they placed the Cid on a horse of wood,
before the high altar. After many masses had been sung for the repose of
his soul, a tabernacle was built on the right of the altar, and in it
was placed the ivory throne on which the Cid was wont to sit. There,
clothed in royal purple, with right hand clasping his mantle and the
left grasping Tizona sheathed, sat the Champion like a king and lord for
ten long years. And each day until her death, Ximena knelt for hours,
morning and evening, at the feet of her lord, and wept and mourned and
would not be comforted.
At last, seated thus on his ivory throne, the Cid was entombed in a
vault before the high altar. His hand could never be unclasped from his
sword, and thus, says the legend, it remains to this day. Well might the
people believe that even in death the great warrior would not loose his
hold on his cherished sword Tizona; for with it he had done such
marvelous deeds that even his enemies looked on him as "a miracle of the
miracles of God," and bestowed on him the proud title of "The Conqueror
of Banners."
THE CID'S WEDDING
Within his hall of Burgos, the king prepares a feast,
He makes his preparation for many a noble guest.
It is a joyful city, it is a happy day;
'Tis the Campeador's wedding, and who will bide away?
Layn Calvo, the Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate,
Behind him Ruy Diaz in all his bridal state.
The crowd makes way before them as up the street they go;
For the multitude of people, their steps must need be slow.
The King had given order that they should rear an arch,
From house to house all over, in the way where they must march:
They have hung it all with lances, and shields, and glittering helms,
Brought by the Campeador from out the Moorish realms.
They have scattered olive branches and rushes on the street,
And the ladies fling down garlands at the Campeador's feet;
With tapestry and broidery their balconies between,
To do his bridal honor, their walls the burghers screen.
They lead the bulls before them all covered o'er with trappings;
The little boys pursue them with hootings and with clappings;
The fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing
'Midst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing.
With antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter,
They fill the streets of Burgos--and the Devil he comes after;
For the King has hired the horned fiend for sixteen maravedis,
And there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies.
Then comes the bride Ximena--the King he holds her hand;
And the Queen; and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land.
All down the street the ears of wheat are round Ximena flying,
But the King lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there was lying.
Quoth Suero, when he saw it (his thought you understand),
"'Tis a fine thing to be a King, but Heaven make me a _hand_!"
The King was very merry, when he was told of this,
And swore the bride, ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss.
The King went always talking, but she held down her head,
And seldom gave an answer to anything he said;
It was better to be silent, among such crowds of folk,
Than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke.
_Ballad translated by J. G. Lockhart
from "Poems of Places."_
GODFREY AND THE FIRST CRUSADE
I sing the pious arms and Chief, who freed
The Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane:
Much did he toil in thought, and much in deed;
Much in the glorious enterprise sustain;
And Hell in vain opposed him; and in vain
Afric and Asia to the rescue poured
Their mingled tribes; Heaven recompensed his pain,
And from all fruitless sallies of the sword,
True to the Red-cross flag, his wandering friends restored.
_Tasso._
GODFREY AND THE FIRST CRUSADE
(1060-1100 A. D.)
It was a bright autumn day of the year 1095 A. D., and since early
morning the inhabitants of the little French village of Clermont had
been astir, and feasting their eyes on the unusual spectacle of
strangers from all France, Germany, and Italy. It was the day appointed
by the Pope for a council to consider the state of the Christians in
Palestine; and loyal sons and daughters of the Church had gathered from
far and near. Outside the limits of the town for miles around, their
white tents and many-colored banners gleamed in the sunshine, for the
village could not accommodate the throngs of visitors.
Now the tents and houses were deserted, as all had crowded into the town
to witness the proceedings of the Council. No building could contain the
thousands of people, so the Pope had decided to hold the meeting in the
great public square of Clermont. Here the vast crowds had assembled. As
far as the eye could reach, down every street leading into the square,
extended a closely packed multitude. They stood silent, almost
motionless, their faces turned toward the platform in the center of the
wide square.
People of all classes, ages, and conditions were there: nobles, clad in
rich dress or glittering armor; priests in dark robes; peasants in
coarse frieze; ladies of rank, merchants, beggars,--all stood side by
side, forgetful of everything worldly, listening eagerly to the words of
the man who looked down on them from the high stand in their midst.
This man was small and mean in his appearance. His bony figure was
covered by a woolen tunic and a coarse serge gown that reached to the
bare feet. From the neck drooped a monk's hood. His thin, haggard face,
burned brown by long exposure to the hot sun and winds of the East,
would have been ugly but for the deep, dark, flashing eyes, lit up with
wild enthusiasm and fiery earnestness. The monk held erect with the left
arm a great wooden cross that overtopped his head. Gesticulating
fiercely as he addressed the absorbed multitude, his slight frame
quivered with the violence of his emotions, and tears rolled down the
sunken cheeks. In a voice often broken by sobs he cried:--
"Men of Clermont, people of France, Christians of all nations, come
hither at the call of our Holy Father, the Pope! I tell you not of
things learned by hearsay; I myself have beheld all these horrors in the
Holy Land of Palestine. Through the ancient streets of Jerusalem the
accursed infidels stalk in the evil pride of conquest. They insult and
oppress, they torture and murder the followers of Christ. They rob and
maltreat the pious pilgrims from all lands who toil through desert and
over mountain to worship at the tomb of their Lord. Scarcely will these
heathen suffer the adoration of Christ in the blessed city of His cross
and passion. Nay, not content with persecuting our brethren, the vile
crew of Mohammed, accursed of God, attack the very majesty of the most
high God. They cast down and burn the churches of Christ; they tear His
ministers from the very altar and drag them to a shameful death; they
profane the holy places; they mock and spit upon the symbol of His holy
religion,--this blessed cross, the sign of our redemption.
"O people of Christ, God hath already stretched forth His hand to the
destruction of the wicked. To me, the most humble of His servants,--to
Peter the Hermit, despised of men,--hath He revealed His purpose. For
while I lay prone upon the rock before the Holy Sepulchre, calling upon
God for mercy, the voice of the Lord Christ came to mine ears,--
"'Peter, arise! Hasten to proclaim the tribulations of my people. It is
time that my servants should receive help, that the holy places should
be delivered!'
"When I heard this, I hastened in fearful and joyful obedience to tell
to Christian nations the sore straits of Christ's land and followers.
Here stands God's priest to call the people of God to this holy
work,--Christ himself calls you to the rescue of the Holy Land. Arm
yourselves and hasten to Palestine! There shall ye cast out the heathen!
There shall ye restore Jerusalem and the Holy City to the keeping of
God's people!"
As Peter sank down exhausted with emotion, the Pope, Urban II., in all
the splendor of his pontifical robes, arose from his throne in the midst
of the prelates of the Church, and came forward. It was he who had
called this solemn council of priests and nobles to consider the state
of the Holy Land and to devise means for its rescue. Now, with dignity
and eloquence, Urban added the sanction of the Church to Peter's wild
appeal, saying:--
"I will not seek to dry the tears which images so painful must draw from
you. Let us weep, my brethren; but evil be to us if in our sterile pity
we longer leave the heritage of the Lord in the hands of the impious.
For I called ye hither, not to weep over the afflictions of the Holy
Land, but to gird on your swords and go forth to its deliverance.
"Christian warriors, rejoice! for to-day ye have found a true cause for
battle. Go forth and fight the barbarians. Go and fight for the delivery
of Jerusalem,--that royal city which the Redeemer of the human race has
hallowed by His passion, has purchased by His blood, has distinguished
by His burial. She now demands of you her deliverance. Men of France,
men from beyond the mountains, nations chosen and beloved of God, right
valiant knights, recall the virtues and greatness of Charlemagne and
your other kings. It is from you, above all, that Jerusalem awaits the
help she invokes, for to you, above all, has God given glory in arms.
Take ye, therefore, the road to Jerusalem for the remission of your
sins,--for all sins shall be forgiven to the warrior of Christ,--and
depart assured of the deathless glory that awaits ye in the kingdom of
heaven!"
As the Pope ceased speaking, the people cried aloud in wild
enthusiasm,--
"The cross! the cross! Give us the cross!"
Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, was first to receive the holy symbol. Then all
the multitude, pressing eagerly forward, received from Pope or priest a
red cross of silk or cloth. Fastened on shoulder or breast, it
henceforth stamped the wearer as one sworn to fight for the delivery of
the Holy Land,--a Crusader.
In the throng surrounding the platform on which stood the Pope, Peter
the Hermit, and many princes of the Church, was a certain young knight.
His dress betokened high station. He bore himself modestly, with easy
grace; and yet a peculiarly stern dignity of mien, and the air of one
used to command, bespoke the military leader. He gave close heed
throughout to the speech of the poor monk and that of the proud Head of
the Church. As Peter spoke of the persecuted Christians and the wretched
state of the Holy Land, the calm and steadfast eyes of the young man
kindled with rage or glistened with sorrow. When the Pope mentioned the
renowned Charlemagne, the knight's smooth, pale cheek flushed with
pride, for the blood of that great emperor flowed warm in his veins.
When the pardon of all sins was promised by Christ's vicar to the
soldier of the cross, the listener started. To his mind came the
recollection of past exploits,--deeds glorious in the eyes of the world,
but which left a sting in that tender conscience. And the troubled
knight mused:--
"The cause of my emperor was just when he warred against Rodolphe of
Rhenfield; and the many slain in that quarrel trouble me not. I was glad
when my lance pierced the breast of the upstart who dared to claim the
throne of Germany and the crown of Henry. Alas! if but the emperor had
not warred against the Holy Father! If I had not drawn my sword against
Holy Church! When Henry stormed the battlements of Rome, my young blood
was hot with the joy of battle. I thought not of sin, but of glory, in
that wild charge, and I was first to plant our banner on the city wall.
Henry himself gave me thanks and saluted me as Duke of Antwerp and
Lorraine. But, alas! God rebuked me soon for my pride in that warfare
against His Holy Church by sending me a most grievous sickness. Then I
swore to atone for my impiety by an humble pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
But _now_, God be thanked! Godfrey de Bouillon goes not with scrip and
staff to Jerusalem, there to weep over the captivity of Zion--with sword
and spear will he march to the Holy Land and wrest the Sepulchre of the
Lord from the hands of the infidels!"
Thus determining, the knight, with a look of high resolve, strode
forward to the feet of the Pope. Urban received him joyously.
"Now God be praised!" he said fervently, "that the valiant Godfrey de
Bouillon turns his erstwhile hostile arms to the cause of Holy Church.
His young renown shall be increased a thousandfold, for God will give
yet greater victories to his banner."
Then after fastening the cross upon the shoulder of the kneeling knight,
Urban bestowed upon him a sword with these words,--
"Son Godfrey, receive this sword consecrated by God's high priest to the
service of Christ. Draw it not save against the enemies of His holy
religion; but strike and spare not the infidel. So shalt thou advance
the glory of God, cleanse thy soul from every sin, and purchase
Paradise!"
Godfrey's pious heart throbbed within him at these great promises. He
heeded not the crowd about him, nor the congratulations of his friends
upon this signal honor, but betook himself to solitude, there to pray,
and to plan the execution of this high enterprise.
Erelong the Pope held council with Godfrey and other great princes who
had taken the cross, and it was decided that the Crusaders should not
start on their expedition until the following August, for it was then
November and much was to be done. The armies were to march in several
divisions, each by a different route, but all were to meet at
Constantinople. Having arranged these matters, the princes and lords
bade one another farewell and proceeded to their several domains, each
to collect and prepare an army for the coming Crusade.
But Peter the Hermit, impatient of delay, set out at once for Palestine
at the head of a vast, undisciplined multitude, ill-clad, lacking arms
and provisions, unprepared in every way for the perilous undertaking,
but confident that God would supply all their needs, guide them, and
deliver the Holy City into their hands.
When Duke Godfrey reached his duchy of Lorraine, he found that the wave
of enthusiasm started at Clermont had already dashed over his people.
There was no need to urge them on to the holy work. Each and every one
was eager to don the cross and set out to the rescue of Palestine. Men
gave their gold, their land; women sold their jewels, their costly
raiment, to provide means for the equipment of God's soldiers. The Duke
of Lorraine himself pledged his province of Bouillon to the Bishop of
Liege for money to fit out the thousands who flocked to his banner from
Bouillon and Lorraine, from both sides of the Rhine, from northern
France and western Germany.
Knowing both Frank and Teuton,--able to greet each in his native
tongue,--Godfrey was well fitted by birth and education to lead the vast
army that now gathered on the banks of the Meuse and Moselle. Indeed,
all the qualities of a great general and of "a very gentle, perfect
knight" were Godfrey's. From his father, Eustace, Count of Boulogne, a
notable warrior, he inherited valor and wisdom, and learned early "to be
among the first to strike the foe." His mother, Ida de Bouillon, a most
learned and pious lady, taught him to fear God, to be gentle, courteous,
just, and merciful. "Even in youth," says the old chronicler, "a rival,
on seeing him, was forced to exclaim, 'For zeal in battle, behold his
father; for serving God, behold his mother!'"
Such was the character of Godfrey de Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine, "in
whom the luster of nobility was enhanced by the splendor of the most
exalted virtues." Nor was his appearance less to be admired. He was of
tall, powerful frame and most dignified bearing. He was "beautiful in
countenance," and the glance of his dark gray eyes, though usually
gentle and kind, could command respect and obedience from the most
lawless.
Godfrey was indeed an imposing figure when he rode forth that autumn day
of September, 1096, at the head of his army of Crusaders. He wore the
usual dress and armor of a knight. On his head was a silver casque,
surmounted by a black plume. A hauberk, or coat of mail, composed of
steel rings, protected his body. He carried on the left arm a round
buckler, which bore simply the red cross of the Crusader,--the same
symbol as that worn on his breast. A sword and lance, borne by his
squire, completed the knight's equipment of arms.
With the duke were his brothers, Baldwin and Eustace, his kinsman,
Baldwin du Bourg, and his squire, Sigier. Before the leader, rode the
standard-bearers with the banner of Lorraine and the great standard of
the Crusade, emblazoned with a blood-red cross.
Ten thousand knights on horseback followed, attired like Godfrey, but
with gayer ornaments and colors. Their shields, from which floated
scarfs of red, green, or white, were ornamented with painted leopards,
lions, birds, towers, or other fanciful devices. From each lance a
pennant drooped.
After the knights, marched eighty thousand foot-soldiers, carrying long
oval shields and armed with lances, swords, cross-bows, or heavy clubs.
Behind these soldiers, trudged thousands of women and children.
On every breast shone the red cross and from every lip rang the
Crusader's battle-cry, "God wills it!" So the army of Godfrey de
Bouillon marched forth from Lorraine to the rescue of the Holy Land.
After traveling many long days through Germany, the Crusaders reached
the country of the Hungarians, a rude though Christian people. There the
army was stopped on the border by armed forces. Godfrey, attended by
only a few followers, sought the presence of the king. Carloman received
him with simple but courteous hospitality.
"I have come," said the Duke, "to ask that the soldiers of my army,
bound to the rescue of the Holy Land, be allowed to pass through thy
country in peace and safety."